


Voderiya

by orphan_account



Series: The Clones of Mandalore [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Cody is Duke of Mandalore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, M/M, Reunions, the clones deserve better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:57:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23002468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The Duke of Mandalore awaits the arrival of his Jedi.And four million of his brothers.
Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: The Clones of Mandalore [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1648051
Comments: 49
Kudos: 1233





	Voderiya

The logistics of planning to feed, house and build a stable, sustainable economy for nearly four million clones hasn’t been half as complex and time consuming as the task of preparing the people of Mandalore for the sight of an entire fleet of Republic battleships arriving in their system.

Less than twenty short years ago Cody’s people would’ve fought to the death before allowing their planet to be called home to an army of Republic soldiers, unwitting slaves or not, and while the concept isn’t half as unpopular as _he_ was back then, getting Jango’s clones home is only the first stage of what will prove to be a very long, very wearying battle.

Cody isn’t worried so much about that: war is in his blood. He won the throne through dominance and force of will, has kept it through respect and compromise, and is not afraid to embrace his traditional roots when necessary. Before this is over, it is going to be necessary.

He can handle Mandalore.

It’s the Senate he’s not looking forward to. He’ll let Obi-Wan fight that battle.

It’s perverse, in a way, that a man who fought and bled for every scrap of power has clung on to peace these past few years, while his peacekeeper has been leading an army. This will be a chance to fix that. To rebalance the scales. Obi-Wan can go back to his arena of clever words and careful machinations, and Cody can take the weight of violence from his shoulders.

It’s how they work best. It’s rarely how Obi-Wan _allows_ things to go - his stubborn _Jetii_ will never do things the easy way - but Cody’s been planing this battle for years and he’s covered _all_ his bases.

He’s prepared for this. He’s ready. He’s excited.

And he’s kriffing terrified at the same time.

He carries the weight of an entire system on his shoulders, a few more million souls are very little in the grand scheme of things, but he has to do this right. His brothers - his _thirteen-year-old_ brothers - are coming home.

And so is Obi-Wan.

If nothing else, experience has taught him that stealing an army is going to be a whole lot easier than capturing a _Jetii’s_ heart.

Cody Fett, the youngest brother of Jango Fett, mercenary and outlaw with only the very weakest of clan ties to their home planet, stands Duke of Mandalore on a landing pad of his newest spaceport, ready to welcome his brothers home to Voderiya.

Four figures emerge from a small shuttle, three vode in full _beskar'gam,_ the _aliik_ of the 212th Battalion gleaming proudly flank a familiar, beloved figure, and Cody’s heart sings at the sight of him.

Until Obi-Wan draws closer. Then the joy turns to fire and he replaces his determination to _not_ sweep Obi-Wan off his feet and kiss him senseless with the urge to wring his kriffing neck.

_I’m going to kill him._

The thought isn’t a new one, nor an unfamiliar one. It’s run through every possible formation over the years:

_I’m going to kill him; he’s a jetii, he’s the reason my people were murdered, the reason my buir is dead, reason Jango is..._

_I’m going to kill him; stuck up, sanctimonious, self-righteous shabiur. I hate him. I hate him. I hate..._

_I’m going to kill him; I don’t need his help! I don’t need anything from him!_

_I’m going to kill him; if he dies on me I’ll never kriffing forgive him. I’m the one the Jettise left for dead. I’m the only one who gets to take his kriffing life..._

_I’m going to kill him; he has no right to smile at me like that, no right to look so beautiful in the starlight..._

_I’m going to kill him; if I ask him to stay with me, it's going to kill him..._

_I’m going to kill him; kriffing idiot isn’t supposed to come back! Maul is here! He's here and he'll..._

So no, Cody’s no stranger to the urge, though he thinks he’s probably come to substitute ‘kill’ for ‘steal away and lock in the palace’ at some point over the years, but this is the absolute last kriffing time.

This time Obi-Wan is going to do as he’s kriffing told and let Cody help him.

“Your Grace,” Obi-Wan says softly, stopping a few feet away from Cody and bowing his head. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Cody looks at the soldiers beside him. “These men?”

“Commander Wicks,” Obi-Wan inclines his head towards a man Cody has seen at his side in numerous holos. “Trooper Kip, and Specialist Stitch.” His medic. Cody narrows his eyes. Obi-Wan smiles serenely, seeming to ignore the fact that his whole face is one giant bruise.

The three men stand sharp under his gaze. “You trust their discretion?”

Obi-Wan lets out an exasperated sigh, one he perfected by the time he was seventeen. “Of course I _trust them_! What kind of-” Cody snatches a hand in the front of his robes and drags him into his arms. “Oh,” Obi-Wan lets out a different kind of sigh, not even attempting to distance himself from Cody’s embrace. “Well, you could’ve just asked.”

“Shut up, _N’edee_ ,” Cody orders, pressing his hand to the back of Obi-Wan’s head and gently holding him in place. Obi-Wan sighs again - yet another complex string of emotions contained in that one soft sound - and leans against Cody’s chest.

There’s less of him than there should be. Bones feel sharp, almost brittle, and despite the thick weight of his many layers, what parts of his skin Cody can touch feel chilled and clammy. The need to hold him close, to protect, to comfort and soothe and cherish; they all flare to life at the feel of him in his arms, and Cody doesn’t care that there are witnesses. He’s been holding his breath for nearly twenty years, just waiting for this moment. He drops a kiss to the side of Obi-Wan’s brow, rests his cheek against his hair, and just holds him.

Eventually, though, he has to let go. They can’t stay on the platform forever, no matter how reluctant Cody might be to leave this precious moment in time. He draws back, curls his hand up to cradle Obi-Wan’s cheek, and draws his thumb over the split and bruised skin.

“Sith?” he asks, his heart hurting. “Not Maul?” There are very few things Cody truly fears - that monster’s obsession with Obi-Wan is the worst of them.

Obi-Wan shakes his head, wincing a little when the movement bumps his cheek against Cody’s hand. “Sideous,” he says, his voice grim. Then, “Chancellor Palpatine.”

That takes Cody a minute to compute. The head of the Republic _and_ the leader of the Separatists. Both Sith. Which would mean...

It would mean that the whole war is a farce. A distraction. A kriffing ploy.

His brothers have been murdered by their thousands in a political _game_.

He’s shaking, unaware of it until it’s Obi-Wan pulling him into _his_ arms, clutching him tighter than he’s ever dared to do before.

“Tell me you killed him,” he clings back just as hard, knowing he must be hurting Obi-Wan, knowing that pain proves he’s still alive. “Tell me you ripped his kriffing spine out.”

“Cut his head off, actually,” and there’s more to that story than Obi-Wan is saying. He doesn’t sound triumphant or relieved or even resigned. He sounds traumatized.

Cody leans down and rests their foreheads together. It can mean many things between many people; affection between brothers, admiration, and joy between comrades; relief, exhilaration, violence. For them, it was their first kiss. Back at a time when Cody rebelled against loving a _Jetti_ , and Obi-Wan saw his yearning for Cody as the deepest mark of failure.

Cody follows the touch of their foreheads with a brush of his lips to bruised skin, then turns his attention back to Obi-Wan’s men.

They’re all doing an admirable job of not looking at what is happening right in front of them.

“Thank you,” Cody says. “For bringing him back to me. I owe you a debt that cannot be repaid.”

“It’s our job, Sir,” Commander Wicks answers seriously.

“Cody,” he corrects. “I’m not your boss, not your General. Technically I‘m your Duke, but...” but what if they hate Jango for what he did? What if they hate Cody by association? How is it fair that he is free and they are not? Why has he been allowed to live a life of his own choosing while they have suffered and died for a cause they never got to pick?

“You are family,” Obi-Wan says gently. “And this can be your home if you wish it to be.”

Cody swallows. “What he said.”

Wicks steps forwards and removes his bucket. He has Jango’s face, but for a thick black tattoo that scrawls across his left cheek, and eyes that are far softer than his brother’s. “Cody,” he tries, sounding the word out carefully.

There’s only three of them and Cody wants to hold them all and sob, to beg their forgiveness and promise to keep them safe.

He’s going to speak to all of them. Every last kriffing one.

And he’s definitely going to need to lean on some of that endless _Jetti_ compassion and emotional strength if he’s going to keep his sanity in the process.

Obi-Wan smiles at him, soft and proud and adoring, and at his men, overflowing with affection.

Cody takes his hand, squeezes it, and lets his own smile grow.

“Welcome to Voderiya, _vode’ika_.”


End file.
